


Guarded Heart

by VolxdoSioda



Series: Whumptober 2018 (Complete) [5]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Day 5 - Poisoned, King!Clarus, M/M, Noctis Whump, Older!Gladio, Prince!Gladio, Role Reversal AU, Shield!Noctis, Shield!Regis, Whumptober, non-traitor Titus, older!noctis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-25 19:52:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16204508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VolxdoSioda/pseuds/VolxdoSioda
Summary: During peace negotiations with Niflheim, Noctis does his job, and takes a hit meant for his Prince. Gladio is impressed, right up until he realizes his Shield has been poisoned.





	Guarded Heart

**Author's Note:**

> I've always wanted to try my hand at one of these reversal aus. Usually I see Ignis or Prompto switched with Noctis, but I have yet to see one where the Amicitia are the ones guarding the Crystal, and the Caelums are the bodyguards.

_Poison_ is a nasty spell to be hit by. Even with Antidotes on hand, the nausea, dizziness and fever brought on by it's arrival to the body has put even the hardest men in the dirt before. Add on to that the pain of being pierced by a weapon laced with the stuff - say a  _bullet_ for example - and it tends to put anyone down for the count.

So it strikes Gladiolus as particularly ironic when his Shield stands at his side during negotiations with Lord Ravus, looking for all the world as aloof and bored as ever. He's dressed to the nines, as impeccable as Ignis himself on his left, not even the slightest hint of strain showing. And he must be straining - Gladio knows, because he was there when Noctis took the hit that was meant for  _him,_ a hit that Niflheim would deny ever having any connection to, were Gladio fool enough to try to pin the blame on them.

As it is, he's wrangled this particular political beast before. The shooter was caught, and killed themselves before the Kingsglaive could get answers out of them, but attempting to shoot the Crown Prince on the day they're meant to meet with Niflheim for treaty talks? Yeah no, Gladio's not buying into the whole 'anonymous shooter' bullshit. 

His dad hadn't believed him when he'd asked to make Noctis his Shield, all those years ago, despite the fact that Regis had been  _his_ Shield for damn near an eternity. It wasn't the slender build of the boy, or the casual, almost lazy way he seemed to drift through life that made Clarus hesitate on the decision, but rather the deep gouge on his lower back, that trailed down his left leg. A wound, Regis had made it known, Noctis had gotten from trying to defend his mother from a Maralith the empire had sent to take out the Shield.

Regis had driven the beast back, but not before Noctis had damn near died of blood loss. And yeah, to some degree, Gladio  _got it._ There was no use in making a Shield out of someone, loyalty aside, if their body wouldn't be able to hold up under the strain of the tasks placed before it. 

But when Gladio had owned up and told Noctis  _why_ his dad was hesitating, he hadn't gotten the screaming or the pleading he'd somewhat expected.

Instead, Noctis had frowned, and nodded, and said, "I'll do better, then."

After that came the longest six months of Gladio's life, as Noctis raced against time to get his body into shape before the Shield Trials came and went. Gladio could only watch, helpless, as his childhood friend and confidant ran himself ragged, placed his body under stresses the likes of which make Gladio's skin crawl. He even undertook training with  _Cor Leonis,_ of all people, as well as Titus Drautos. Between the two men, they'd broken down Noctis to his basest elements, and then begun building him back up. It reminded Gladio of something he'd read in a book once, about pottery. 

 _Kintsugi,_ or the act of taking broken shards of something, and binding them together with lacquer colored with gold, silver, or platinum. It was meant to represent the long history of an object by showing off its flaws and cracks, rather than attempting to hide them.

To Gladio, it seemed like that's what Noctis was striving to do to himself. Instead of hiding away behind his scars, behind his past, he embraced it, and sought to make himself that much stronger for it. There was a poetic beauty to such a move - or maybe that was just Gladio's inner romantic talking nonsense. In either case, when at last those six months had passed, and Noctis had stood with the other contenders, facing down his opponents with a grim determination, Gladio had been more than a little impressed.

It helped that with his sudden increase in training, Noctis' body seemed to have stumbled over itself trying to keep up - puberty had hit him like a freight train, and he'd not only shot  _up,_ but developed muscles. If the swooning done by the audience as Noctis had nimbly danced between his  opponents' strikes was any indication, he was at the very least eye-catching.

And since that moment, when Noctis had earned his place and bowed to Gladio, he's never allowed a single blow to keep him down for long. Gladio won't lie - that kind of tenacity speaks to him deeply. It's probably contributed not a small bit to his head-over-heels love for his Shield. Though he'll still be marrying Lady Aranea when all is said and done - the Amicitia line has to continue, after all. 

So even as he banters with the Emperor, he keeps one eye on Noctis. Who, apart from a thin sheen of sweat over his brow, is still showing no sign of being poisoned. He wonders if Ravus is getting irritated, waiting for his Shield to collapse from a wound that's probably heavily infected by now. 

Ravus stands, and Gladio feels his muscles tense. 

"I tire of being in here. Might we continue our discussions during a walk?" Ravus asks in what one might think is a perfectly reasonable tone. But Gladio sees his gaze dart over to Noctis for a fraction of a second, and has to resist the urge to curse loudly, and run his blade through Ravus' throat. 

He goes to tell Ravus  _no, sit down,_ but one of Council speaks before he can. "A wonderful idea, Lord Fleuret. It's getting rather warm - why not spend a few hours outside. Perhaps a stroll through the garden?"

Ravus smiles. It's meant to be polite, friendly, but all Gladio sees is the smile of a predator eager for a kill. "Why, that would be wonderful. Highness, since this is your turf, why not lead the way?"

Shit, he can't say no to this, can he? Nevermind that moving around only acerbates poison, makes it burn through the body that much faster. Nevermind that Noctis is strong - Gladio's putting his friend in danger by doing this. 

 _Royal responsibility first,_ Clarus' voice says in his mind.  _Your Shield must withstand all blows that will be thrown at you. Else what purpose would it serve?_

He fights back a grimace, and nods. "As you say, then."

As he moves past Noctis, he glances at him out of the corner of his eye. Noctis catches the look, and tips his head down half a hair, the only confirmation Gladio will get that he can handle what's coming. 

Because chances are these bastards are going to make him do loops around the entire garden just to see them both sweat, and Gladio won't be able to say anything until they get these fucking negotiation squared, or night falls. At the rate they're going, he wouldn't be surprised if the latter comes before the former.

 

_**0-0-0-0-0-0-0** _

 

He's right about one thing - the bastards  _do_ keep him lapping the gardens, and they do keep him talking until night is nearly on him, at which point Clarus and Cor and even Titus have joined them. Throughout it all, Noctis has kept pace quietly by Gladio, his unruffled composure remaining. But if Gladio looks, he can see the waxy, pale look to Noctis' face, the pinch in the corners of his mouth and eyes, and the faintest tint of green to his lips. Cor and Titus see it too, which is probably why they choose to herd Noctis behind Gladio and flank the both of them - it's a strategic move, because everyone else is in front beside Gladio, talking and moving about. Despite the hesitation at the beginning of Noctis' involvement, Cor and Titus have become as protective of the young Shield as they have of their King.

Even the few steps back he is, Gladio can feel the fever through his back. It feels like there's a Bomb following him, lit up and ready to explode. His hands tighten into fists, but he hides it by flexing his hands like he's got a cramp. Ravus is looking far too smug - he probably figures Noct is going to drop any second now.

Instead, Cor gently says, "It's getting rather late, and His Majesty has discussions with Accordo in the morning. Why don't we pause it here, and pick it up tomorrow afternoon?"

The Council is more than amicable to the idea - everyone heads either to the dining hall or to their private rooms. Ravus lingers, but under Titus' stony stare and Cor's 'polite' insistence, he too heads off. Though not before he looks at Noctis one more time. Noctis meets him look for look, only slightly smiling and inclining his head. Ravus leaves with a furrowed brow and half a scowl on his face, evidently realizing his wish to see the Shield break will not come to pass tonight. 

"Alright," Titus says, when they can't hear anything else. 

Noctis's legs give out, and he hits the grass hard, pressing a hand to his mouth and shutting his eyes. Cor has a hand on his back, another on his shoulder, supporting him, Antidote already in hand.

"Noct," Gladio says, kneeling. "Holy fuck, are you okay?"

Noctis opens an eye and gives Gladio a  _what do you think?_ look, right before he politely pushes the Marshall away and vomits into the grass. Cor grimly cracks the Antidote over his head, and Gladio rubs his back. Clarus says nothing, keeping his gaze on the distance around them, watching for enemies. 

At last, the Antidote takes, and Noctis groans. "The next time someone invites you to tour the gardens, sneak me an Antidote first, you ass," he jabs Gladio between the ribs, not hard. Gladio gives a weak chuckle.

"Sorry. I thought my stalwart protector could handle it."

"Yeah well, my stomach's never been iron like Iggy's. Give me a break, Majesty."

It's all gentle ribbing between friends, and Noctis accepts the hand Gladio offers him, hauling him to his feet. A muttered spell from Cor, and the mess in the grass sinks into the mud, and vanishes without incident. 

"Right," Titus says in a no-nonsense tone. "A light broth, a Potion, and then bed."

"Aye aye," Noctis agrees. Clarus, Cor and Titus head inside, with Gladio and his Shield half a step behind, their fingers quietly twined together as they walk.


End file.
